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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26096398">No Strings Attached</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrownePrince/pseuds/CrownePrince'>CrownePrince</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Trolls (2016), Trolls World Tour (2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Backstory, Canon Compliant, Comedy, Consequences, Culture, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Healthy Relationships, Hidden Depths, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot Collection, Pining, Plot Twists, Post-Movie, Pre-Movie, Rare Characters, Rivalry, Romance, Tragedy, Worldbuilding, diversity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:00:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,021</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26096398</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrownePrince/pseuds/CrownePrince</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The strings are gone, but harmony and forgiveness don’t come easy.</p><p>This short story collection adds gritty, funny, tragic detail to the Trolls World Tour universe, complicated relationships between cultures, and depth to its characters. All your favorite trolls get a chance to shine.</p><p>Tales intertwine and are not in chronological order. Chapter 1 is an index for easy browsing.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Branch/Poppy (Trolls), Queen Essence/King Quincy (Trolls)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>66</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>91</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. TABLE OF CONTENTS</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><hr/><h1>INDEX</h1><hr/><p><a href="#section0002"><b>Princess Barbara:</b></a> (Thrash, Barb)<br/>King Thrash tells his daughter a story she won’t forget.</p><p><a href="#section0003"><b>Hickory Dickory:</b></a> (Hickory, Dickory, Branch, Poppy, Barb)<br/>Two brothers take a job they can’t refuse.</p><p><strong><a href="#section0004">Hot Pepper Apology:</a></strong> (Barb, others)<br/>Barb "apologizes" by treating everyone to some of the best cuisine in Volcano Rock City.</p><p><a href="#section0005"><strong>Lonesome in the Flats:</strong></a> (Branch, Delta, Cinnamon)<br/>The quiet pull of Lonesome Flats pits Branch against the badlands’ no-nonsense queen Delta Dawn.</p><p><a href="#section0006"><strong>Sugar Kissed:</strong></a> (Biggie, Legsly, Branch, Poppy)<br/>Biggie witnesses something unusual the day after the World Tour.</p><p> </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><hr/><h1>IN PROGRESS</h1><hr/><p><strong>Best Friends:</strong> (Poppy, Branch, Smidge, Suki, Cybil)<br/>Poppy tries to figure out if Branch has a crush on her.</p><p><strong>Smooth Chaz:</strong> (Chaz, everyone)<br/>Chaz attempts to score a date with every troll he encounters. He’s not picky. Or, um, wise.</p><p><strong>Brave New World:</strong> (Poppy, Branch, Genre Leaders)<br/>Poppy faces a world without strings hoping to fix the mistakes she’s made.</p><p> </p><p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Princess Barbara</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>King Thrash tells his daughter a story she won’t forget.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Dad," his daughter complains. "I'm a little old for bedtime stories. Geeze I'm almost 14. You haven't read to me in like, three years."</p><p>"Mmm, yes," he hums. "And when I'm old and senile you can read to me."</p><p>"You're <em>already</em> old," she points out.</p><p>Skulls, you'd think he didn't know that from the way she says it. Where'd she get all that sass? Certainly not from him, and he's an only father. Never had interest in a partner. She must be getting that whiplash tongue from her friends.</p><p>Thrash's thick, carefully trimmed eyebrows raise up at the comment. "Thank you Barbara. I wasn't aware of my own age."</p><p>Her eyes go wide before she scowls and folds her arms, gaze jerking to the molten lavafall on the side of the solar. The private room on the fortress' upper floor provides one of the few getaways from their genre's wild lifestyle. His daughter can probably hear clattering and laughing downstairs. He used to be able to.</p><p>A graying wisp marrs his thick black mane, all of it held up by a solid steel circlet. The silky plumes cascade from his head and reach mid-back, but they're thinning. Pity. He's gaining weight, he gets tired faster, and more things hurt than ever before. Honestly he's surprised he's still alive. He was sure somebody would've offed him by now.</p><p>If it happens he's got trolls set up to raise Barbara. She has the same perfect obsidian night hair as him, though she dyed it recently. Neon green.</p><p>What was he…? Oh yes, the story. "This is about the six strings."</p><p>Barbara flops onto the leather couch when she realizes she's not getting out of this one. "Yeah, yeah, six strings, pop trolls took all of them, we saved the world, the end."</p><p>"There's more to it than that."</p><p>"Ugh," she groans. "Why does everything have to be so complicated? Why can't it just be easy?"</p><p>"What would we rock about if it was easy?"</p><p>That wins a grin. "Pff. Yeah. Okay, guess you're right. Still."</p><p>No, nothing in Volcano Rock City is easy. The size of the lava kingdom was big when he inherited the throne. By the time Barbara is crowned, it will be massive. The ore deposits required to repair older structures are dwindling, and shipments from the country troll badlands aren't enough. Worse, his advisors predict food and water scarcity in years to come due to increasing volcanic activity. The lava protects rock trolls, but it's not so kind to the farms they depend on.</p><p>Ever since disco died international relations are strained to the breaking point. Rock has the strongest economy, the most freedom, the best education system, the sickest fashions, the powerful music, and obviously the largest population. If the others truly understood this lifestyle things would be different. Everyone would get along.</p><p>Instead, last week the country trolls missed an ore delivery. An underground university building collapsed and killed several students, injuring dozens more. Trolls weren't supposed to use buildings that didn't pass inspection, but following laws wasn't exactly his subjects' strong suit.</p><p>They need a new plan.</p><p>"Do you know what happens if all the strings come together?" he asks.</p><p>"Something happens? I thought pop took every string for themselves to make… whatever… by mixing everything."</p><p>"They did. Whoever has the strings has the power to control all music. In the wrong hands it's abused."</p><p>This isn't part of the usual history curriculum. Barbara slowly sits up on the couch, now paying full attention. "What do you mean power to control music?"</p><p>"I mean, if a troll were strong enough, and if their music was strong enough, they could bring everyone <em>together</em> with the strings."</p><p>Then he tells her the new story, one that's started circulating around the universities.</p><p>It never made much sense how pop music held control for so long. Sure, they allied with violent creatures he'd caught glimpses of once before, getting too close to Pop Village. But that alone wouldn't have been enough. No. The ancient Emperor had done something with the combined strings. He'd somehow changed the hearts of the people. He turned them into pop trolls: a transformation so complete splitting up the strings didn't undo it.</p><p>It was a theory, but the more historians looked into it, the more it made sense. The population data lined up. It explained why so many trolls went missing centuries ago. They weren't missing; they just never came home.</p><p>The strings could unite all trolls under one music.</p><p>Barbara's tone is accusatory. It annoys her the genres are – quote unquote – too stupid to get along. "Why didn't you say anything about this before?"</p><p>"Because I don't know if it'll work."</p><p>Her fingers dig into the couch. "But it could. No more fighting. Dad, those college students would still be alive. The disco trolls would still be alive!"</p><p>She's right of course. Even if there's a chance it might work they have to try, because the bed of nails trolldom is sinking into will bleed them dry if someone doesn't do something soon.</p><p>"That's why," he says, withdrawing a slick black case from his hair, "if I don't make it, I'm entrusting this to you."</p><p>He clicks the case open. Steam hisses from the velvet lining, revealing a red glow of the royal skulled axe and its single string. The string that keeps their music alive.</p><p>Barb chuckles nervously, scuffing a hand through her green mohawk. "Don't make it? Don't be so morbid dad. Geeze."</p><p>He isn't one to sugarcoat the truth. It's a suicide mission. "The plan is to get all six strings. That includes the pop string."</p><p>That's assuming he can find all of the accursed things in the first place. If he can't do it, she'll have to. It's pathetic that he has to rely on his daughter. He'd hoped to make the world a better place for her. Shit outta luck on that one.</p><p>"The pop string," she mumbles, admiring the family axe. Its confident red glint reflects off her eyes. She's strong, even if she's being a pain in the ass lately. He's proud of her.</p><p>"Dad..." she says hesitantly. "This is about those trolls you sent to Pop Village. They didn't come back, did they?"</p><p>No. They didn't.</p><p>They never do.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Hickory Dickory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Two brothers take a job they can’t refuse.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This isn't the first deal they've done with queen Barb, but it might be the last. No one who enters Pop Village ever returns. Not even their sister Dock.</p><p>The monstrous shamble of buildings looming in the distance promises one or more of the stories is true. Pop trolls tame huge beasts to do their bidding, fearsome creatures that once guarded the strings until a group of unlikely heroes put an end to the Pop Empire. Pop trolls are colorful cannibals with the ability to steal your song in broad daylight. You'll be left an empty husk. Then they'll eat you.</p><p>It's blood chilling to find the leafy troll tree empty and surrounded by talking giants. The people are more grumpy than fearsome, though. One of them points out Pop Village's new location. It would've taken a tracker bat to find this place otherwise.</p><p>The place the giants sent them to is only that: a village. In a way it makes sense the queen would hide here. The first place to look, and therefore the stupidest place to be, would be the pop cities… wherever they are.</p><p>Bright fuzzy homes in warm atmosphere compliment the forest trolls' wild colors. Dickory refuses to believe these cheerful tarts did Dock in. It must've been their monster friends back there, or a forest predator. Cannibalism? Pfeh. Unless sugary personalities eating sugar counts, Dickory has no clue where that part of the legends came from.</p><p>Hickory self-consciously rubs his clean shaven chin before slipping off the hug watch. He drops the carefree pop lilt out of his voice. "Nobody's seen the queen in two days."</p><p>Dickory flares his hands out. "She daft enough to respond to Barb's party invitation? Girl's a wee bit short on the brains department."</p><p>"I wish that were true. It'd make our job a whole lot easier." Hickory is busy putting the watch and clothes back on an unconscious troll. "She's a new queen. Clever, but naive. Thoughts on the pop trolls?"</p><p>"Easy marks. Every one of em."</p><p>"Yah. They're so friendly it's scary. Bought in to my disguise and invited me over for tea and cookies in the same breath."</p><p>Dickory supplies a confident, bearded grin and thumbs his suspenders. "So whatcha thinkin? The old switcheroozle?"</p><p>"Mmhmm. Gotta find that hot air balloon first."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It's easy to outrace the balloon on the spiked zipperbacks Dickory "borrowed" from the rock trolls. It's not so easy to watch the pop trolls make complete fools of themselves in the most beat down town in all the badlands.</p><p>"Do they know nothing of the outside world?" Dickory grumbles.</p><p>Since the pop queen unsurprisingly ends up in Lonesome Flats' jail, it gives the brothers time to discuss. The disguise's empty forelegs drape in front of Dickory. He twirls his moustache around a finger. "That teal one is trouble. How are we going to get rid of him?"</p><p>"Don't think Miss Delta'd take too kindly to us breakin her jail down," Hickory says.</p><p>"Are ya proposing we make a scene and hope the other two get caught?"</p><p>"Exactly. The queen doesn't look the type to abandon her friends, but they might ditch her given the right circumstances. The big one will chicken out as soon as there's real trouble. The other guy I'm not so sure."</p><p>The teal pop troll had thrown a fit when Growly Pete took Queen Poppy by the arm to drag her to the cell. "Hey-ey-ey-ey! Hands off! Hands off! We can walk just fine," he'd snapped. The three pop trolls then strolled peacefully into jail as if that was normal. Getting the door slammed in their faces must've been a rude awakening.</p><p>Dickory rolls his shoulders. "Well, whatcha waitin for? Let's yank the strudels out of the fire before that idiot Chaz shows up."</p><p>A few minutes later they're barreling down the badlands at top speed. Hickory races them through a cactus patch. He knows he's towing Biggie because of the weight, but when he looks back the real trouble is still surfing the door too. A sudden jump over the mine doesn't shake Branch.</p><p>They're outrunning the country trolls – if only for a handful of seconds. Thrill pumps through Hickory's veins. It's taking Dickory a lot of willpower to not yell triumphantly.</p><p>But sure enough, Delta catches up, and she's got the sheriff right there too. Hickory flicks his gaze back and forth over his shoulder. Slow down a bit, just enough. Growly Pete lassos Branch. They've got him. Yes. YES! Now it's time to run.</p><p>It's hard to focus with the pop queen shaking Hickory and shouting about Branch. Hickory fears she'll jump and ruin the whole plan. The worry disappears under another unexpected development: an extendable worm. It's going to be close but Hickory knows Delta will reach Branch anyway. The brothers only need to take the cliff with Poppy aboard. Everything else will look like an accident.</p><p>A sudden whiplash crack rockets from behind. Heavy weight slams into Dickory, who smashes against Hickory, and then they're floating. The whole group takes the plunge. Water consumes everything. As Dickory propels powerful kicks against the river, Hickory gets the opportunity to watch Branch suck in a mouthful of water while he struggles to hold Poppy up. Even though he's drowning he doesn't let her slide off his back.</p><p>Ah, so that's how it is.</p><p>Hickory interrupts the intimate moment on the beach and shakes off all over the competition.</p><p>They won't have to get rid of Branch. In the end he'll walk away all by himself.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Dickory loses his temper as soon as he's out of the disguise. "Ein! Hickory, you almost got us drowned, und zwei, quit making goo-goo eyes at that pink strumpet!"</p><p>"It worked, didn't it?"</p><p>Dickory clenches his fists and hisses like a teakettle before exploding. "Yes it worked but that good-for-nothing leafed hund hasn't taken his eyes off us since!"</p><p>Hickory puts his hands over his raging brother's face. "Shh shh shh! You'll blow our cover. I said I was coming out here to rustle up some grub, so start rustling."</p><p>The tree shakes from the force of Dickory's kick. Neon orange grubs rain down. "When are you going to ask her about the string?"</p><p>"I've got to warm her up first. Don't you know anything about country troll charm?"</p><p>"If I did, I wouldn't be in the back, now, would I? I vote we knock the hund over the head, kidnap the queen, and be done with it. Then we can go home."</p><p>"We're not going home," Hickory whispers angrily.</p><p>Dickory matches the tone. "Yah don't need to remind me."</p><p>Whatever Barb has planned, it's clear after this there will be no music but hard rock.</p><p>And yodeling.</p><p>There will also be yodeling. But the only home left for them will be a tiny island they haven't even seen.</p><p>In melancholy silence the two brothers gather grubs into the reed woven basket. They should be back in disguise by now. It hardly seems like it matters. Nothing matters.</p><p>Hickory passes Dickory half of the gumdrops. Dickory eats one with a growly sigh. He glares in the direction of the raft. "Why do they have to be good? It's always awful when they're good."</p><p>Hickory says nothing. He doesn't know how many of these types of jobs he has left in him. This may be the last.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Branch is jealously guarding access to Poppy and happens to be arguing with her about going home, so Hickory doesn't intervene. Let Branch see that his sweetheart doesn't listen to him. He'll learn... though it might take rubbing that detail into the stubborn guy's brain first.</p><p>Hickory piles cattail fluff into the fire pit and flicks sparks off flint and steel. Flames catch. Gradually adding tinder creates a decent fire. He tends the orange wisps and speaks to Biggie. "Hope ya dont mind me askin, but any other trolls show up in Pop Village over the years?"</p><p>"I had no idea there even were other trolls until this week. It's all a bit much, honestly."</p><p>"So ya never seen a yellow pop troll around, 'bout yay tall, big gold braids?"</p><p>Biggie shakes his head, picking up a poker stick and arranging the grubs. "You may want to ask Poppy. She knows everyone in the village."</p><p>"Ah. Thank ye. I'll do that," Hickory says before turning the conversation over to harmless talk about coffee blends.</p><p>After dinner the usual escapade with Chaz finally does the trick. The pop trio crumbles. Hickory knew it would happen but watching it is painful. He didn't expect the gentle giant to crack the way he does.</p><p>"You only hear what you want to hear!" Biggie's words slice through Poppy's optimism. The longer he talks, the more her expression falls into depressed misery. She's failed as a friend and a queen.</p><p>Biggie takes off into the dark and silence reigns supreme. Poppy stares along the midnight river toward emptiness. Nothing can move her. Weakly she hugs herself as if arms can prevent her spirit from escaping.</p><p>Branch reaches a hesitant hand out. "Poppy…"</p><p>The pitiful look she lifts up at Branch is so heartbroken his hand freezes, unable to close the distance. She steps away and her gaze drops to the floor. "I think I need to be alone right now."</p><p>She may as well have stabbed Branch with a knife.</p><p>Poppy trudges to the back of the raft and sits, her feet trailing in the water. Dull moonlight silhouettes her tiny shadowed form. Branch doesn't go to Poppy's side, not this time. He wants to but he's just been told he's not welcome.</p><p>Hickory is forced to watch Branch wage a war with himself. The teal troll takes a step toward Poppy, halts, retracts it. He reaches out. He takes a breath and opens his mouth. Then his lips seal shut. Navy eyebrows knit together. For a moment it looks like he's mustering the courage to sing.</p><p>Branch goes to the front of the raft and hangs his head before folding to the ground. A thick blanket of quiet smothers everyone. Hickory feels terrible. Dickory focuses on the mission.</p><p>No one can muster the will to steer so Hickory ties the raft up for the night. Neither pop troll moves from their spot, and Branch has lost all interest in monitoring the brothers. They travel into the reeds to escape the dead atmosphere. It's a relief to take the disguise off.</p><p>"Put him out of his misery," Dickory says.</p><p>"It's not right. Drivin a wedge between them like this."</p><p>"Yah know what's at stake."</p><p>"Doesn't make it any easier."</p><p>"Next excuse to split up, knock him out or I'll do it meself." Dickory thrusts a country guitar into his brother's hands. He clomps one of the hard tacked hoof shoes to emphasize the point. Chaz will have bruises tomorrow.</p><p>Hickory gets his chance, but not only is it going to take more than a guitar to the face to render the suspicious troll useless, Branch kicks Hickory back – on purpose. There's no <em>way</em> his aim is that bad. Hickory's head is still spinning when the transit bubble scoops them up. Instead of leaving Branch behind on the raft, they're stuck together.</p><p>"What in the world," Branch mutters in shock at Vibe City. He looks up at Poppy as the bubbles begin to rapidly accelerate toward the light. "Poppy!" The queen's defender starts scratching and struggling against the bubble. Where did he get that pointy stick?!</p><p>"No, Branch, don't—!"</p><p>Soapy liquid splatters everywhere. The brothers slam into the gummy landing pad.</p><p>When they're back on their feet Dickory silently thanks Hickory's courage for sacrificing his beard. Vibe City was not part of the plan and they'd be in serious trouble if recognized here.</p><p>Dickory's heart whams into his throat when Hickory leaps up. "Bacon-Wrapped Hot Dogs!"</p><p>The twin funk prince is <em><strong>alive.</strong></em></p><p>Dickory needs a play by play of exactly what is happening later on. Curse this stupid disguise for bieng so effective. He wants to see. At least he can hear Poppy's excited voice.</p><p>"...she'll see that music unites all trolls, and that we're all the same!"</p><p>They're not all the same. Poppy's heart is in the right place but she doesn't understand. Hickory knows she will, though, if she listens. And he's starting to think she just might. The King and Queen of funk didn't earn their titles with empty lyrics, and Darnell is just as well-versed.</p><p>Maybe the brothers won't have to turn Poppy in. The funk trolls are the only ones who can go toe-to-toe with the rock kingdom and win. As long as Barb never finds all the strings, then...</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The bubble bursts. Sand crunches under Hickory's feet. Dickory holds the empty front of the costume and looks at him.</p><p>They've always known pop is the reason rifts separate all music. But after this adventure it's hard to equate today's naive, idealistic pop trolls with history's selfish and ruthless people.</p><p>It's depressing the Queen of Pop herself was ignorant of her ancestors' role in all this. Her wilting expression while she tried to come to terms with that burden lingers in Hickory's mind. Branch, Cooper, Poppy: none of them had known. Their genre owes a debt that cannot be repaid. Some trolls will never forgive pop.</p><p>It's unfair. They all have to live in this world and it's one they didn't even create. They just happened to inherit it.</p><p>This all feels very sad, and wrong.</p><p>"Dickory, I'm not sure what we're doing is the right thing."</p><p>"Hickory," he warns, "now is not the time to go soft."</p><p>"What if there is a better way?"</p><p>Dickory crosses his arms. "Use your noggin. What are two lost waifs going to do? Leap into the sky and shower us all with pink and blue fairy dust, oooh, everything is so much better now?"</p><p>"Poppy wants to help. I think she can help us."</p><p>Dickory snaps. "Nein! The little strumpet wants to help, the mad queenie wants to help, that fire-haired hellion wanted to help, and where has that gotten us? Here? I didn't wish to be a bounty hunter; I wished to yodel. That's our music! There could finally be a place for us and the others! Get your act together Hickory!"</p><p>One last job.</p><p>Honestly Hickory hopes Branch wins.</p><p>They find Poppy down by the river. She's alone.</p><p>"Where's Branch?"</p><p>"We had a fight. He's gone."</p><p>That's the problem with new love. It's fragile. And now there's nothing stopping the hunters from finding out where the pop string is. Barb will unite all the trolls by monopolizing music. Will that truly be any better than what they have now?</p><p>Hickory and Dickory have traveled all over the kingdoms. They've seen a lot. Ragers where rock trolls collect unwanted items and destroy them for fun. Quiet, reflective mornings brushing the skies of Symponyville. Colorful shag carpet and neon lights hiding the funk trolls' incomprehensible technology. Water that washes over isolated oceans and desert sand that hardens the hearts of herds.</p><p>Music isn't everything. Melting melodies into a single type will not erase the differences that separate people. The brothers know. It's never been easy living outside the definition of the six strings.</p><p>Just ask the disco trolls.</p><p>Poppy holds the glittering pop yarn in her hands and curses its existence. Hickory prays this one time Dickory's pragmatic steel will soften. He knows he's asking a lot. They'll fight about it. But right now, all he sees is a young leader trying to get a grasp on this impossible world.</p><p>"Poppy, take the string and run as fast as you can, you hear me?"</p><p>Well, he tried. In short order the fairy tale ends. Two pop trolls were never a match for Queen Barb, much less one, all alone, who is doubting her own abilities. The confident rocker strides right in and collects her prize.</p><p>Hickory and Dickory are not Poppy and Branch. Even though Hickory is miserable, and Dickory is proud, the two brothers stand side by side. They're a team. They're family. Finding and bringing Pop Village's tyrant queen to heel, let alone capturing the pop string, was an impossible mission. They succeeded.</p><p>Barb chokes back a laugh. "This is who I've been worried about?"</p><p>The spirited, soft pink queen doesn't exactly look like the music and flesh eating cannibals they all imagined. Although, this is the first time Hickory has seen Poppy make such a furious face. Barb is far too smart to get near enough for her other ear to be bitten off. Dickory tenses in case a hair fight breaks out.</p><p>Barb douses Poppy's fire by telling her about Pop Village's fate. Then she looks around. "Where's the other one?"</p><p>Somehow she knows there were two. Between reconnaissance, scouts, bounty hunters, and tactical logic, there's not much that slips past the Queen of Rock.</p><p>"He has a name," Poppy mutters indignantly before her gaze drops in defeat. "We broke up. Branch doesn't listen and he can't do anything by himself."</p><p>The twisted lie stakes Hickory's heart, hard. The brothers deceived Poppy and she learned the lesson well. She believes what she is saying, but she believes it about herself, not Branch. She's protecting him.</p><p>"Broke up?" Barb scoffs. "What, he your boyfriend or something?" When Poppy doesn't answer Barb clicks her tongue. "Tch. Some guy he his, ditching you out here. Don't worry, I know how to throw one hell of a heartbreak concert. You'll feel great in no time, I promise."</p><p>Barb strolls over to Hickory and Dickory as her flunkies drag Poppy away. "Right, so," she says. "Obviously I need a second opinion. How much trouble is the queen's boy toy gonna cause?"</p><p>Dickory folds his arms. "Our yodeling land, first."</p><p>"Deal's a deal. You know how I roll. Island's yours."</p><p>Hickory clings to depression, letting it dull his voice. "The other hunters will pick him off before he gets back to Pop Village."</p><p>Maybe.</p><p>Barb looks to Dickory. The older brother knows precisely how much of a pain Branch is. Sure, the other hunters <em>might</em> catch Branch. But keep him in check? Yah. Good luck with that. If Branch isn't a thorn in Barb's side now, he will be soon.</p><p>Dickory says nothing.</p><p>Barb knocks a fist into Dickory's shoulder before she swaggers off. "Knew I picked the right yodelers for the job."</p><p>When it's all clear Hickory shoots his brother a questioning look. Dickory shrugs. Yodeling is safe. Branch was never part of the deal.</p><p>Hickory gawks. "Yer kiddin' me. That son of a bramble bush rubbed off on you."</p><p>"Hmph."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>After the concert Hickory and Dickory hitch a ride with the country trolls.</p><p>Dickory scowls. "One more word about pink and blue fairy dust saving the world and ay'll see ya eat yer hat, Hickory."</p><p>"Which one? The bavarian's pretty small. Think it might be worth it." Hickory chuckles at his brother's unamused growl. "Alright alright. I get it."</p><p>"Destroyin the strings like that, no plan." Dickory grumbles. "Pink strumpet givin the mad queenie a run for her money."</p><p>"It worked, didn't it?"</p><p>"Y'always gotta say that, don'tcha?"</p><p>Dickory is acting like a defeated grump, but he's happy. Hickory can tell. They escaped this one with their music in tact <em>and </em>a private island. Dickory is going to brag up and down the mountains first chance he gets. The scattered yodelers will be able to live freely, without hiding, and have a place they can gather.</p><p>Dock should be here.</p><p>Everything in Cliffton is the way they left it. Houses tucked into crevices and unharmed wooden walkways scale the cliff's red and brown marbling. Shutters on some of the buildings look a little shaken, but other than that not a single scorch mark is in sight. Barb must have hit Lonesome Flats and not bothered with the other settlements except to collect the residents.</p><p>For three days, in between packing, Dickory stands on the edge of the wooden platform in front of their Cliffton home. A dizzying drop to the base of the cliff falls off at his toes. He hardly notices it anymore. Falling is what hair is for.</p><p>For three days Hickory is nothing but a dust cloud on the plains, restlessly herding yaks through the badlands.</p><p>Dickory huffs and goes down to collect his brother so he can finally know peace.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Hickory can't rest now that he has a new lead on a tail he's tried to follow for almost a decade. Whatever the truth is, it's time to look it in the eye. Once more the brothers return to Pop Village.</p><p>The forest is a disaster but the trolls are in high spirits, putting life back together in well coordinated teams. The brothers find the queen at the center of it all. Her fingers strum a yellow ukulele, though the pinky on one hand is a vivid blue color. A bruise?</p><p>"Miss Poppy, I hate to interrupt, but we're lookin for our sister," Hickory says after they exchange hugs and greetings. "The last time we saw her, she was heading for Pop Village. Er, where we thought it was. The place with those big guys everywhere."</p><p>The Queen of Pop grows still and the smile on her face softens to an expression Hickory can't quite place. As if she's had this conversation before. As if she expects to have it more times than she'd like.</p><p>It's sympathy.</p><p>"Ah…" Hickory says, removing his feathered hat and looking to the side. Dock is really… she's really not coming back. Dickory just shakes his head. He didn't want to squish his younger brother's hope.</p><p>"How long ago was it?" Poppy asks.</p><p>"Eight years."</p><p>The Queen bites her lower lip and looks off, nodding her head. <em>Ping.</em> Tiny glowing hug flower petals unfurl.</p><p>"Just in time," she says softly, roping the two yodelers into a hug. It's calm and gentle and forgiving. She knows. The queen knows what it's like to lose someone.</p><p>It feels like a hug they've needed for almost a decade.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Hot Pepper Apology</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Barb "apologizes" by treating everyone to some of the best cuisine in Volcano Rock City.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Woo! That's got some kick to it," Hickory exclaims. The three of them are standing at one of Firetop's outdoor round tables near the mouth of the volcano.</p><p>Barb tears another bite out of the rolled spiced taquito and waits. Yeah, it would've been a million times easier to lob everybody together and do this all at once. But there are benefits to picking on – er – <em>apologizing</em> one at a time. What's the harm in a little fun out of it?</p><p>Hickory spoons a new helping of meat onto a shell. As he reaches for the cheese, though, his movements slow. The yellow troll's nose twists with the beginnings of a pained grimace. Barb watches his cheeks tint orange. The color matches his flared hair. Wicked.</p><p>"What in tarnation," Hickory gasps, immediately discovering that talking isn't the best idea. "ACK!" He sticks his tongue out and crosses his eyes trying to stare at it, only causing his burning senses to touch more air and sting like hellfire she's sure. Sweat droplets pop over his brow. He panics.</p><p>Barb stifles a snort and pours hot sauce onto her third taquito. "Thought you two were supposed to be all worldly and all that."</p><p>Dickory scoffs while his younger brother freaks out. "Yah, but for some reason gumdrop here decided to trust you."</p><p>She rolls her eyes. "Hey I upheld my end of the bargain! And who was it who lied to me in the first place? Oh, right, yeah, it was you."</p><p>"Technically not a lie!" Hickory cries in a strangled uptight classical accent. Tears roll down his cheeks as he slams back another glass of water. Only gonna make it worse, buddy. That orange blush is turning awfully red. Heh heh.</p><p>Hickory's supposed to be the cunning one but it's old reddie that somehow avoided her trick. Barb knows the two of them would've never afforded this food (the most expensive in the whole kingdom <em>and</em> during a food shortage, so yes, <em>you're welcome</em>), yet Dickory somehow knew to skip the meat altogether. Is he a vegan or something? Skulls.</p><p>Neither of them has even tried the hot sauce. C'mon.</p><p>"Put some of this on it," she says, shoving the bottle so it slides to Dickory. He eyes the black skull n' crossbones label, and then her, warily. Oh for the love of – give sweet payback already! <em>He</em> was the one who didn't rat out that defensive buzzkill Branch. "Eat the damned sauce Dickory."</p><p>His moustache curls up proudly over a smile that says he knows what she's up to. "Nein."</p><p>Frosting.</p><p>"HOO! HOO BOY!" Hickory wheezes. Barb and Dickory continue eating while Hickory rubs tear-stained eyes, pulls his hair, face-plants on the table, grunts, mumbles, groans, and spouts an impressive array of curses in several languages.</p><p>That's the price of trust.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Barb doesn't even finish parking her zipperback before she jumps off. Terror knows how to park herself.</p><p>She struts to the counter. Her subjects part before her. Ruler's dibs. "Hey Moira, dinner for two, skip the candles. Something for Debbie, and while you're at it, get a care package sent down to Vanna." Barb drops a bag of cash and sticks the counter with a mangled scrap of paper bearing an address. "Riff says her mom's not doing so hot."</p><p>Moira slides the sucker in her mouth over. "How d'ya want your dinner date?"</p><p>"You know how I like it."</p><p>A snarky grin crosses Moira's face. "Hot."</p><p>Exactly. Barb whirls around. Her favorite table's taken so she picks out second best. No problem with second best; it's just not as close to the lava flow. She stands at the table and folds her arms over it, slouching. Debbie rolls out of her mohawk and puffs up on the sleek hardened metal.</p><p>"Aww, are you excited to see Fishbait? Yes you are. Yes you are~"</p><p>Neon glow catches her peripherals. Oh, shit, hopefully he didn't hear that. "Yo Trollex, over here man!" She waves down the techno king. Dang, this guy moves with grace. Like the air is water or something. "How's beeps and boops?"</p><p>"Could be better," he says with caution, floating on the other side of the table doing the defensive chest-thrusty-outy thing. Maybe that would be intimidating and even kinda hot, if not for the pink heart beating smack dab in the center. Cute.</p><p>Trollex stares at her in icy silence.</p><p>Whuff, the other leaders have been really edgy since the Tour (so… not much of a change). She paid for the damages. Seems like it might take more than that to make up for it though. Better make sure. "Did you get the funds we sent?"</p><p>"Yeah," Trollex replies stiffly. This is going to be a rough date.</p><p>That's when Debbie – sweet, innocent Debbie – straight up <em>attacks</em> fish boy. The bat launches off the table, strikes him in the forehead, and starts gnawing on his hair. Debbie's wings flap wildly out of sync. Every beat slaps the king's face while he ducks down in wide-eyed shock. 'Course the abrupt movement doesn't stop Debbie. Crap.</p><p>"Debbie, no. No..." she warns, sliding around the table, trying to grab the impossible puff out of the dude's weird hair.</p><p>A flurry of giggles bursts from Trollex's green strands and that bizarre square creature pops out. Debbie latches onto it and flops onto the table. "It tickles! It tickles!" the square squeals while the two tussle in a furious ball of fluff and blue-green feelers, knocking over sauce bottles and sending them rolling down the table. Barb catches the bottles on reflex.</p><p>"Beat! Beat buddy, are you okay!" Trollex panics, flitting around the table, trying to find an angle to get his hand in there without touching Debbie's flashing fangs.</p><p>"Dude. I think they're… playing?" Barb says as "Beat" pins Debbie's wings with circuit-like hairs and vengefully tickles her with waving leg feelers. Debbie's shrill coo pierces the air, a sound she usually only makes when play-fighting with other tracker bats.</p><p>Of all the strings only techno was embedded inside a living creature. Barb points at it with a sauce bottle. "What is that thing?"</p><p>"Beat's not a thing!"</p><p>"Is he your pet?"</p><p>"No, he's my beat," Trollex says.</p><p>"You just said that."</p><p>"No, I mean – ugh – every troll, every <em>techno</em> troll, has a beat. My beat's name just happens to be Beat."</p><p>Barb barks a laugh at how silly that is. Thank rock she didn't name Debbie "Tracker Bat."</p><p>With a final lunge that almost tips the table before Barb hooks her knee under it, Debbie and Beat launch skyward and chase each other through Firetop and over lava flows leaking from the volcano. "Huh," Barb remarks. "At least <em>they</em> get along."</p><p>The comment actually makes Trollex blush. She said it more bitterly than she meant him to hear. Awesome. She props up the napkin holder and rams sauce bottles toward the middle while a waiter puts piping hot food on the table.</p><p>"Look," Trollex says. "I get that you're trying to make it up to us, but you destroyed part of our reef. That is so not cool."</p><p>This is what none of the other genres seem to understand. "Uh, actually it is. Wrecking stuff's how we build new and better things."</p><p>Trollex's brow lies deadpan flat over green eyes. "Really," he says. Why do they never believe her?</p><p>Barb flicks a rusted metal rod out of her hair. She flings the weapon at an unbussed table. Abandoned glasses shatter and spray liquid over volcanic rock; sauce bottles smash open. Red hot splatters the back of a nearby rocker's jacket.</p><p>"Woohoo! Alright! Yeah Queen Barb!" her trolls shout, destroying glasses of their own. Once the satisfying din settles, only new clean items remain.</p><p>Barb snakes a chained wallet out of her pocket and fishes through the bills. She slaps a wad into the waiter's palm. "Give this to Moira. Thanks man."</p><p>Trollex stares at her open-mouthed. "You guys are nuts."</p><p>"No, you're the ones who get offended at every little thing. Frankly it's annoying when outsiders treat the material world with so much damned respect. It's just stuff." Barb finishes filling the taco shell and streams killer sauce over it. She hovers the bottle over the center of the table. "I can replace this." The glass clacks on the hard surface. Her hand settles over the cap and a finger jabs at Trollex. "Can't replace this."</p><p>'Nuff said. Time to enjoy some spice.</p><p>She ignores the way Trollex's posture loosens and he peers at her curiously. After a hot minute he studies the colorful splatter of foods. "So. What're we having?"</p><p>Barb eyes the way Debbie and Beat are hitting it off. She gives it to Trollex straight, lets him know exactly what spice level each thing is. And, demon be damned, he actually tries it. Fishbait risks a dot of the death sauce.</p><p>One by one the rainbow bands on his arms light up 'til neon green leeches down his hands with crackling little firework sparks. Now <em>that</em> is pretty fluffing cool.</p><p>"It's hot," Trollex peeps. He dabs the corner of his eye and looks at the salt water with confusion. "What's this?"</p><p>"Never cried before?"</p><p>He shakes his head, a wry smile poking glowy mouth corners. "The surface is weird."</p><p>"Welcome to my world buddy. Cheers."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Delta refuses to come out to Volcano Rock City. No surprise. Cross that one off the list.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>"...YEARS worth of damage! Priceless artifacts destroyed! The antiquafabiran your trolls so ignorantly defiled dates back to at least the early melodium era…"</p><p>Trollzart continues to lay it on her. Furiously buzzing wings make his black coattails flap. Barb watches them and thinks about bite flies. They're tiny song-eating insects that drain a troll's energy. If that's not enough the bites itch like crazy.</p><p>She sniffs and wonders if the itching will start soon.</p><p>"...cannot be repaired. As for the royal archive, I do not even know where to begin! Every original version of sheet music from Antonio Balanza: ashes. Sinfonia Galvaratti? Dust. Rita Brokkenford? Gone. Nearly half the composers from the romantic period have been utterly effaced from history. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to transcribe a new copy of those pieces, without embellishment, as originally envisioned by the composer? Any idea at all?"</p><p>No. But if she asks it'll set him off. Barb holds her tongue and lets Trollzart rage. He'd be an excellent rocker if not for the, y'know, undying love of classical and all.</p><p>After a prolonged gush of fancy words Trollzart finishes with an enormous huff. He hovers in front of the table and glares at her. She folds her hands primly over the metal and lifts her eyebrows. "Alright. What would you like us to do about it?"</p><p>"Assist with the reconstruction efforts. Send your…. ruffians… to repair the damages. Those that can be repaired at all."</p><p>Barb's attitude hardens. Her hands slide off the table. "No."</p><p>"Provide Symphonyville with volunteers. That is all we ask."</p><p>She isn't playing around. "No one leaves Volcano Rock City on my orders. Free will only."</p><p>Trollzart stares her down.</p><p>"Okay, that's what you want? Fine." Barb pushes away from the table. She goes directly to the center of the restaurant and vaults onto the decorative pile of rocks there. Scrubby ferns and brightly colored buzztendrils inserted into crevices brush her legs on the way up. "Hey rockers!" she barks. All turn to the call. "Lookin' for volunteers to head outta the city, help fix up some of the stuff we broke. Any takers?"</p><p>A burgundy troll asks, "Leave the volcanoes?"</p><p>"Yup."</p><p>Uncomfortable glances flicker between the restaurant goers. No one speaks up. Barb waits. Tension builds and a dark atmosphere of dread suffocates the previously fun atmosphere. They know it's coming. She's going to command them to do it. Leave their territory.</p><p>Finally she shouts, "It's cool, just checkin'. You guys change your minds let me know."</p><p>Barb slides down the rocks and rejoins Trollzart at the far table. The hot flowing lava behind her feels nice. Sounds of clinking plates and drinks pick up, mixing into rock music ambiance. Conversation and hearty laughter quickly restore the mood.</p><p>"We don't leave our territory," Barb says, serious. "If you need help ask the others."</p><p>"Then I suppose this meeting is over. Good day."</p><p>"Later."</p><p>Wolfgang Amadeus Trollzart leaves without eating a single bite. Barb's lost her appetite. She packs up the leftovers and brings them to the fortress for her crew.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Rather than come out to Firetop, the funk leaders insist Barb be the one who visits their place for dinner.</p><p>"Sid, c'mon man. You owe me!"</p><p>"Nah."</p><p>"Shut up and put the tie on."</p><p>The burly stagehand sighs, slipping off his animal patterned headband. He starts smoothing back the tower of hair. "Don't see why you can't ask Carol."</p><p>"She's busy."</p><p>"She's always busy," Sid drawls. "Pass the gel."</p><p>Dusky hair starts to form into a graceful swoop. Barb slips the tie around his neck and expertly flips the ends over and around, under and through. She slides the finished knot up. A forked tongue and cracked notes pour from unhinged wolf jaws on the tie's design.</p><p>"You look slick."</p><p>"Thanks." Sid takes a moment to calculate whether he should say what he's thinking out loud or not. The crew's been bolder since the World Tour. A small grin tilts his lips. "You look hot."</p><p>Barb smooths her black tux with a smirk. "Don't get used to it."</p><p>"Never do."</p><p>The flight to Vibe City isn't too bad, but Barb notices Sid tense once they pass the border. He acts cool but she can see the alertness in the way his eyes narrow. When there's only two of them and no music it feels dangerous. She's used to it, but he's not.</p><p>They take a minute to fix each other's hair and straighten ties while the transit bubbles lift them on board.</p><p>"Wow. Uh. This place is crazy. How does that work?" Sid scratches his chin thoughtfully, appreciating the hovering discs funk trolls use to get around. Below them neon lights of the city strobe in a kooky array of shapes and colors.</p><p>"No idea man. Riff thinks it's some type of electromagnetic field."</p><p>"Yeah but if that were the case it'd be so strong their brains would be toasted."</p><p>Sid and Barb look at each other. After a few seconds they both chuckle. Yeah. The funk trolls do seem kinda loopy.</p><p>Purple bubbles undulate constantly under the smooth floor of the landing platform. Feels like she'll fall through at any moment. Barb fixes her gaze forward, not at the two, or three, but <em>four</em> royal trolls that greet them.</p><p>She snorts. "O–hoh man, I still can't get over that. Two of them? You guys've been busy."</p><p>Sid bumps her in the shoulder. Yeah, shouldn't have said that. Too late. Quincy and Essence exchange an amused look.</p><p>Prince D nods, once. "I'll see you later mom. Cooper and I are gonna hit the floor. Gotta couple of new beats we're gonna try." The twins bop off, swapping lyrics back and forth.</p><p><em>Go tell your old man<br/>
</em> <em>Go get your whole fam</em></p><p><em>I'm fly like the ghost man! </em>Cooper adds.</p><p>"What does that even mean?" D's laugh fades into the distance.</p><p>Catchy. The curse of pop and hip hop. Barb quits tapping her foot. "This here's my lead stagehand slash bodyguard Sid Fret."</p><p>"And which is it today?" Quincy asks.</p><p>Sid's eyebrows go up. "Both."</p><p>"Of course." Quincy and Essence, again, exchanging a secret look, like something's funny. Bah.</p><p>"How's your father, dear?" Essence asks on the way further up the ship.</p><p>"Oh he's… y'know. He's fine. Not quite the same ever since…" she sighs.</p><p>"It's alright."</p><p>Barb looks at Sid, feeling a little lost. He shrugs. Essence is disarming her, and the funk queen isn't even trying. She's like some kind of glittery blue warrior mom. Scary.</p><p>"How come you're so nice to us even after the war?" Barb shoots point blank.</p><p>The queen smiles. "It's never been in our nature to hold a grudge."</p><p>"That's not to say there aren't funk trolls who can," Quincy adds. "But with us. Well, we've been around a while. Coupla old timers, little harder to ruffle our fur."</p><p>"Seen a lot of stuff, huh," Barb mutters.</p><p>"You could say that," Essence says with a soft look at Quincy. The lava between these two flows deep. Not even gray could break them apart.</p><p>Meanwhile she'd been so focused on the strings like that was the most important thing in the world. Gah, stupid.</p><p>The next hour proves to not be a total disaster. Her head is so full of politics by the time they leave she notices nothing else. In a way it seems a lot of this is her fault. It's not like she actively did anything, but if it weren't for her, her dad wouldn't have gotten so protective. Maybe history would've turned out different.</p><p>The low rumble of Sid's voice crashes her thoughts. "You okay?"</p><p>"What? Yeah. Of course I am."</p><p>He doesn't buy it. She turns away, feeling out the ridges in her ruined ear. "It's just… it's a lot."</p><p>"Hey." A big, firm hand claps over her shoulder. "You know we've got your back no matter what."</p><p>"Yeah…" It sinks in. "Yeah."</p><p>No matter what.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It's difficult to talk. Her eyes water and her voice comes out strained. "Riff, listen, you've been a great, uh."</p><p>"Intern," he whimpers.</p><p>"Yeah that."</p><p>Riff is crying. She's crying. The XXX pepper blend is murderous, and the pain is so good. Barb isn't sure there's even flavor in there anymore. It's just plain hot. She holds a napkin to her running nose while tears bead and spill.</p><p>Riff sniffles and slathers more sauce over his meal. Thank the gods of rock for normal dinner company for once. What is she gonna do without him? The dork's made himself near indispensable. She can't even remember what he signed on for to begin with.</p><p>"What was it you were studying?"</p><p>"Fashion."</p><p>"<em>That's</em> why you've been designing all our sweet outfits. Between dad, the drumming, and all the tech stuff it slipped my mind. So. What are ya gonna do now?"</p><p>Riff's hand sinks before he can take another bite. The taco ends up abandoned on the plate while he absently rotates a sauce bottle. For some reason Riff's turning shy on her. "Probably stitch for some band, or something. Maybe drum if they'll let me. Guess it's better than nothing."</p><p>"Nothing? C'mon man, you could find a gig anywhere. Don't sell yourself short."</p><p>"Yeah well," he mumbles, and it takes a turn of her ear to hear him through the searing fire in her mouth, her nasal passages, her soul. "My dream was to, ah. Y'know." He looks away and rubs his shoulder. "This. Design for the queen."</p><p>Barb holds her breath. "You wanna keep doing that? Official offer."</p><p>Riff's mouth drops open, showing off all his quirky teeth. If she's lucky maybe he'll make that dumb lopsided grin. Not that she likes seeing it or anything.</p><p>"You mean that?" he asks.</p><p>"Duh."</p><p>There it is. The huge wide line spreads over his face, curling into an upturned U. Dang. Why is that so satisfying?</p><p>Riff <em>pours</em> the fucking sauce over his taco and takes a bite. He inhales so sharply it hisses. "Yep, that's the good stuff," he squeaks.</p><p>"Gimme that," Barb beckons. The bottle shoots over the table into her palm. In two seconds she transforms her food into a fiery devil's pit. It's delicious. It scorches. She squeezes her eyes shut while heat rages over her brain and coils in her stomach. The zing is so intense it blasts away rational thought. No worries; there'd never been anything to worry about. The one troll who bothered to tell her like it is is sticking around. "That's really great man," she croaks. "Glad you can still stand my sorry ass."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Barb chews, staring down the enemy. He hasn't touched his dinner. He's still standing there with arms folded, watching her every move. Her own thorny aura butts up against his. No troll threatens her on her turf. She'll not be outmatched by this pawn. Knight. Whatever.</p><p>"Ahahah," Poppy giggles nervously. "So. Barb. We wanted to apologize for ruining your concert..."</p><p>"Woah, crash that note!" She waves. "I'm the one trying to apologize to you. Give a troll a little credit, geeze."</p><p>"Ah, okay, then! I'm listening." Poppy cheerily turns plated foods, admiring the arrangement and sprinkling whatever catches her eye onto a tortilla. Barb smirks at her bizarre choices.</p><p>"Sure you don't want me to tell you what that is?"</p><p>"Nope! It's much more fun this way."</p><p>Barb's idea of fun is to poke at prickly cacti. "Could be poisoned."</p><p>Poppy laughs at the joke. Branch immediately – <em>immediately </em>– plates a spoonful of everything and gets to taste testing. Barb picks up a sauce bottle and dangles it in front of him. He snatches it. With a steady glare he slowly wraps an arm around the whole entourage of bottles and drags them to his spot.</p><p>Barb's insides twist with wicked glee. Her grin does too. Poppy pointedly ignores the mini battle happening right in front of her.</p><p>Oh this is fun. This is so much fun. Barb clears her throat and looks down at the note Riff helped her figure out, double checking the points before crumpling it into a ball. "Sorry if we broke anything important in Pop Village. I know you, uh, might want us to come help rebuild, but rock trolls don't… we don't leave the volcanoes."</p><p>"Aww, why not?"</p><p>"That's. Ahem." She ruffles her mohawk with a hand. This sucks. "Sorry for bashing your music, and taking you hostage, and for anything 'insensitive' or stupid that probably came out of my dumb mouth. And sorry for accidentally turning Brambles into a zombie, though I gotta say, beats having him kill me, which he probably would have."</p><p>"I don't kill people," the grump grumbles. Barb awards herself bonus points for getting him to speak. It's actually quite impressive how composed he is given what he's scarfing down, trying to stay ahead of his queen.</p><p>"Aaaaand done!" Poppy displays the piece of art on her plate. She'd have no problem getting a job here. Or anywhere.</p><p>At this point Branch has gone so blue in the face that pop sparkles flicker on his cheeks. "Poppy," he says in a strangled tone. "I'm going to, um, go. For a bit. Don't… don't leave without me."</p><p>He rigidly turns and marches to the bathroom. Haha!</p><p>Poppy tracks where he's going. Once he's out of earshot she leans over the table. "Wanna know a secret?" Barb ducks closer to hear. "Branch squished a fuzzbug once. It was an accident, driving a caterbus back from a delivery. He cried."</p><p>"Really?"</p><p>Poppy stands straight and nods. "For two days."</p><p>Barb snorts, smirking. It's difficult to imagine the guy so broken up about anything, let alone something as innocent sounding as a fuzzbug. "Puke."</p><p>"Well <em>I</em> think he's sweet."</p><p>"Oh yeah, puke is a good thing. Just means it's kinda overly gross and cute."</p><p>Poppy grins. "I <em>told</em> Branch even barf could be a good thing. Ha. Guess I was right."</p><p>While they talk Barb gets the distinct impression that every personal detail about her is being recorded for future reference. What she likes, what she doesn't like, the differences between rock and pop culture. This better not come back to bite her later.</p><p>Poppy shuffles ingredients into a burrito. "Hey, make one for me the way you like it!"</p><p>"I, uh, don't think that's such a good idea."</p><p>"It'll be fun. Please? Plus there's a catch: you have to try mine!" She makes it sound as if catches are wonderful. Poppy rolls the burrito up like a pro and pins a red flower onto it.</p><p>Doesn't take much from a quick-witted cute chick to convince Barb. "Alright. I'm game. Sign this first." She scribbles on the back of her crumpled apology note.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Branch,</em><br/>
<em>Poppy made me do it.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Poppy puts her signature down with a flourish.</p><p>And the good times roll. Let the good times roll.<em> Let the good times roll!</em></p><p>
  <em>Let them leave you up in the air</em><br/>
<em>Let them brush your rock-n-roll hair</em>
</p><p>Next time they see Branch it's from the impromptu concert at peak of the rocks in the middle of the restaurant, instruments on hand, lyrics flowing. He shakes his head and watches. <em>This is my life now,</em> his expression says. But Barb doesn't care what he looks like on the outside. He can make all the sourpuss grumpy growly faces he wants. She knows.</p><p>He wouldn't trade this for anything. Not for all the axes in hell, or the world, or six strings.</p><p>And neither would she.</p><p>
  <em>Let the good times roll.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Lonesome in the Flats</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The quiet pull of Lonesome Flats pits Branch against the badlands’ no-nonsense queen Delta Dawn.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When he walks into town, the eyes follow him. It's unsettling but familiar. He's reminded of days braving the village market for supplies and how heads turned at his gray skin. Now, it's hard to tell whether the stares are because he's got two legs, because the high noon sun makes his hair shine, or because of some other reason.</p><p>A hushed whisper. "It's him."</p><p>Some other reason it is.</p><p>He's totally exposed out here, there's not much cover, and everyone, <em>everyone</em>, is looking at him from the shade of porch awnings. Hostility radiates thick like the stabbing sun rays. Man, it's hot. This was a terrible idea.</p><p>In one fluid motion his next step turns him around so he's going back the way he came, to the safety of the balloon. He doesn't get far before a clatter of tiny hooves races over.</p><p>"Hey mister! Mister, are you gonna sing for us again?"</p><p>"I. No. I, uh. Hrm." Branch falls silent when the kid's mother comes over and scoops her up.</p><p>"Sorry 'bout that," the mom says before she leaves.</p><p>The scornful stares of the locals don't feel as strong. He stands for a few seconds before sighing. His feet carry him to the edge of town, towards the hill where he can see bright pink flowers that stick out against the desert like a bent nail. The hillcrest wasn't quite tall enough to hide the balloon.</p><p>That's when the clock strikes noon. In the silence that follows, a screen door creaks open and the lonely pick of banjo strings float out over empty roads.</p><p><em>I took my love, I took it down<br/></em> <em>Climbed a mountain and I turned around<br/></em> <em>And I saw my reflection in the dust covered hills<br/></em> <em>Til the landslide brought me down</em></p><p>Branch turns, slowly. The song is full of longing and loss that goes deeper than the lyrics themselves. A lone country troll makes her way down the street and her eyes are closed but her steps are sure. She's walked this road before.</p><p><em>Well, I've been afraid of changing<br/></em> <em>Cause I've built my life around you<br/></em> <em>But time makes you bolder<br/></em> <em>Even children get older<br/></em> <em>And I'm getting older, too</em></p><p>He feels it. This song resonates deep within him in a way nothing at home could. It brings up memories of his only parent and the day she never came back. How he sat in the empty pod until grandma came to get him. He'd rebuilt his life around her and couldn't cope when it ended. But time made him bolder, and he was older, and the seasons of his life kept rolling by.</p><p>So caught up in the past is he that it takes a while to notice the bleached pavement burning into his feet. Each step to get out of the sun sizzles. Shelter comes in the form of an awning off the side of a mobile home. No one is home, and he hopes they don't mind if he sits on the overturned wooden washtub to get his feet off the ground.</p><p>The country trolls continue working as if there is no music at all, and it's very clear what they are doing is work, not play. There's a man sitting out on his porch sewing a patch into a pair of jeans while two children at his feet shuck dried corn off cobs into grain sacks. A woman fills four buckets from a rain barrel and slings them onto a wooden bar over her back. Smoke bellows from a blacksmith's workshop. Hammer on metal rings in time with the beat.</p><p><em>And if you see my reflection in the dust covered hills<br/></em> <em>The landslide will bring it down<br/></em> <em>Well, well, the landslide will bring it down</em></p><p>The song ends and the singer keeps walking, her fingers strumming the harmony. Then she notices him. Notes slow down until there's nothing. Her eyes narrow and she's headed straight for him.</p><p>"You got some nerve showing your face here again, Rainbow."</p><p>Branch's face scrunches in confusion. "Rainbow?"</p><p>"You heard me. Now listen, I don't know what you're doing so far from home, but if you're thinking of stirrin up trouble we got enough of it out here as it is. Maybe one fancy world tour makes everything cupcakes and rainbows for you, but for the rest of us life ain't so simple."</p><p>Branch is speechless.</p><p>"I don't mind if you're here for business or what have you, but mark my words, so much as think about damaging our town again and it'll be my name you hear ringing down the door. Delta Dawn. I've got my eye on you."</p><p>Delta looks him up and down before giving a curt nod. She turns away and heads for the outskirts toward a stretch of earth by the road that's just as barren as everything else. Branch watches her for a while. He's shocked how much of a contrast the attitude is from what he's accustomed to.</p><p>Is that… how he used to sound to Poppy? He stares at his feet.</p><p>It's quiet. Apart from the sounds of daily life and indistinct conversation there's no music or lights or glitter. The air is still, and hot. He wipes at sweat beading on his forehead. He's come this far, and now that he's had his ear chewed off Lonesome Flats' aura of distrust feels welcoming by comparison. So, he tries again.</p><p>The critters here are fascinating. A metal mesh fenced pen contains a flock of golden brown birds no taller than his knees. They have their own house. The birds are noisy in a pleasant way, clucking and cooing as they peck at the scrubby dirt.</p><p>A feminine voice interrupts his observations with a cautious tone. "Not thinkin of stealin any of my eggs, are ya?"</p><p>"Eggs? No, I've never even seen this type of bird before."</p><p>The troll is shocked. "Y'all tellin me you ain't never seen a chicken? Never tasted a chicken?"</p><p>Branch's eyes go wide. "You eat them?"</p><p>"Sure do. Not these ones though. These're my layers."</p><p>The lady's name is Cinnamon, the same color as her fuzzy flocking. A red kerchief with white spots wraps around the base of her dark chocolate brown hair. She's incredibly proud of her chickens and supremely confused at the notion somebody could live off of plants, nuts, sugar, and bugs.</p><p>"Bugs?" she says. "You mean like grubs."</p><p>"Yep. Yeah." Finally, something she understands. Though the orange glowy insects barely qualify as appetizers when it comes to bug cuisine.</p><p>Cinnamon snorts. "Honey, you been living under a log for way too long."</p><p>Before Branch knows what's happening Cinnamon kicks in swinging saloon doors. "Hey Hank!" she shouts, drawing everyone's attention. "Look who I found. Says they don't have chicken out in the woods. Serve him up a taste of civ-ee-li-zation!"</p><p>So there he is, in a small enclosed space full of strangers hellbent on delighting in his misery. The smug glee on their faces is unmistakable. This is it – this is their revenge for disturbing the peace with an upbeat pop medley. He's going to die. They're going to kill him with chicken.</p><p>Branch stares at the untouched plate on the bar counter. This is bad. This is really bad. It looks like a bean burger but it's definitely not. A foreign slab of crispy golden material sits in place of the patty. He pokes it with a finger and it's hot and grainy. There must be a way out of this. He looks up.</p><p>Hank growls. "Lotta folk watchin' ya. Refusin hospitality round here's breakin the rules."</p><p>He looks down. Break a rule or die. Break a rule or die. There's something gooey leaking from the burger. Branch lifts the bun and a white substance of questionable origin peels away from the lettuce. Oh, no. He can't do this. Smidge, it's up to you now to look after Poppy.</p><p>Cinnamon slaps his hand. "Quit fussin and eat it."</p><p>Branch lifts his doom off the plate. If he takes one full bite it might mask the taste. Bread and vegetables, just, don't think about the white stuff, don't think. Make it quick. But don't forget to chew.</p><p>His teeth pierce the bun and slice their way through layers. Crispy flakes give way to juicy meat. It's savory. Tangy flavor pools in his mouth. Salty crunch from the fried coating blends with rich, succulent softness.</p><p>He eats the whole burger.</p><p>"Well I'll be darned," Hank mutters to himself. "Pop troll likes something that ain't from the forest."</p><p>A while later, Branch steps into the balloon basket. He stares at the stash of emergency items: water, food, and medical supplies. There might also be some… ah… defensive options that no one needs to hear about.</p><p>He folds his arms. Poppy would do it. She always has some sort of gift tucked into her hair for situations just like this. Thank-you cards, stickers, gumdrops, whatever.</p><p>He doesn't even <em>know</em> Cinnamon, so why would he... ugh, okay, fine! Seriously though, one snark about his "weird" present and he'll leave diplomacy to the others from now on. Branch selects a gift and goes back to town.</p><p>There's a button next to the door at the ranch. What's it for? He knocks and ponders the button to drown out his rising anxiety. The doors in town had buttons too.</p><p>A young boy's voice pipes up from within the cactuswood house. "Hey Cin it's the rainbow troll!"</p><p>It's weird to be reminded so many trolls his age have kids. It's like showing up late to a party he's not entirely sure he was invited to. Is this the right place? Is he allowed to be here? Then Smidge will growl, "What took you so long? I had to set up the snack bar all by myself. And Poppy's looking for you."</p><p>Cinnamon opens the door, busy drying her hands off with a dish towel. He doesn't want to waste her time. This is difficult. Branch adjusts the note and jar he's holding and clears his throat. "Thanks, for, ah, before. If you don't like pickles you can give them to someone else."</p><p>He hopes it's not obvious how self-conscious he is about the practical jar. It doesn't have a pretty fabric covering, the label is a plain white strip, and his handwriting is scratchy (but legible) because he does so many at once. He has absolute confidence his pickle recipe is delicious, but a troll has to like them to enjoy it.</p><p>Vinegar pickles are relatively safe so he doesn't have to be paranoid about Cinnamon getting sick. He hands the note over with the gift. "These are instructions," he explains. "You can save pickles for a year, but if you do, check them for spoilage. The lid shouldn't wiggle when you press it, there shouldn't be any foam at the top—"</p><p>A hearty laugh interrupts his safety recap. Cinnamon's spotted hairkerchief sways. "Oh I know all that silly. What d y'all take me for, a spring chicken? Wait here."</p><p>She brings back a jar of red jam preserves from her own stockpile. Branch turns the undecorated container over. It has a label on it with the contents and the packing date, nothing fancy. He can feel growing surprise pushing his eyebrows up. "Thank you."</p><p>Huh.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Every now and then Branch finds himself back in Lonesome Flats. The balloon trip there is nice, just him and the open sky, and when he's in town it's peaceful. Hug time doesn't exist. If he's having a bad day the country trolls don't climb all over him.</p><p>He leans over the rail in front of Gitty-Up and swirls the liquid in his tankard before taking a sip. The water here tastes metallic, like blood. It's unpleasant. That's why he's drinking cactus juice instead. The unusual semisweet flavor is a local favorite and bears the same color as the curling tower of hair on the far side of town.</p><p>It's noon. She always comes out at the same time.</p><p><em>Living alone here in this place<br/></em> <em>I think of you, and I'm not afraid</em></p><p>Long gone gray nights in the bunker cloud his memories, times when he knew there might be a bright side if he could get over the past. Back then he wasn't worried. No matter how awful his attitude Poppy wouldn't go away until the bergens came. Every week on schedule he took laundry out to the river, she appeared, and he snapped at her to go away. She always ignored him and continued quietly crafting or washing clothes or whatever excuse she had to stay.</p><p>Delta passes by without looking at him.</p><p>"Rainbow."</p><p>"Delta."</p><p>Off she goes, to the same stretch of road on the outskirts.</p><p><em>But you went away<br/></em> <em>How dare you, I miss you</em></p><p>One colorless laundry day Poppy didn't show up. When he found her, she was with another troll, smiling in a way she never did at the river. He thought nothing would get rid of her. He was wrong. The day Poppy realized it's better to be loved than spend time on a person who never showed any kindness was the day she grew up and moved on.</p><p>The solitude was everything he'd ever dreamed of and it was miserable. He lay in bed for hours at a time because who cared? Nobody was coming to check on him.</p><p>He took her for granted. Now he missed her so much it hurt.</p><p><em>They say I'll be okay<br/></em> <em>But I'm not going to<br/></em> <em>Ever get over you</em></p><p>He forced himself to go out into the world even though it was uncomfortable. He got used to being around trolls again. Bit by bit he created a life he could survive, despite the constant fear it'd be ripped away. And then, because he was the one making an effort, it happened.</p><p>Poppy came back to the river.</p><p>He didn't hide the small, sincere smile. It was the first he'd given anyone in ages. She started inviting him to events and he began lecturing her on bergens and they both hoped one day the other would listen.</p><p>Branch still remembers the ache when she left. It's the same one he felt when she gave up hope in the pot. It's the same one he felt when he confessed after the bubble burst and she let him walk away. He knows if he loses her now it'll be an ache he feels every day for a long time. Love doesn't come without pain.</p><p>Delta knows this.</p><p><em>It really sinks in, you know<br/></em> <em>When I see it in stone</em></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Country trolls have an economy of favors, the same as at home.</p><p>Branch slicks a fresh layer of sunscreen over his arms before digging for a fistful of screws in the tool belt. He pulls the drill from its holster and secures cured boards onto the balcony at town hall. The wood came all the way from Pop Village so it's a darker color.</p><p>He's being generous. It would take a lot of chicken sandwiches to repay the credit he's slowly building up. Yet he has no intention of cashing in the favors.</p><p>Across the street damage from the rock invasion is still clearly visible. Scars pucker over a shade-providing cactus. Windows are broken. Houses are empty and abandoned, their roofs caved in. Porch overhangs tilt perilously.</p><p>Delta's sharp voice can be heard downstairs. "I appreciate the offerin, but money's no good to us out here. What we need is hands and materials."</p><p>The rock troll grunts. "Sorry but this is what we have. Take it or leave it."</p><p>After the rocker departs the vault grinds open and a sack of coins hits the others with a careless tinkling clash. Currency is only useful in the city. It's difficult if not impossible to find a rock troll willing to deliver outside their territory.</p><p>Branch places another board. While other communities finished repairs long ago, in Lonesome Flats the trolls work all day just to survive. It seems like every family has a child to raise, if not three or four, and there are many single parents. Unoccupied houses line the street despite the family lifestyle. The town is small but it's bigger than it needs to be. It's as if half the population is missing.</p><p>By the time he finishes the sun reaches its zenith. People retreat indoors. Due to the heat it's best to get out to work early in the morning or late afternoon. Branch always goes home long before sunset. Landing the balloon after dark is too risky.</p><p>He takes the stairs down. Delta and Clampers are shelling beans at the office desk. He doesn't quite make it out alive.</p><p>"Hold your horses, Rainbow."</p><p>Branch turns and raises an eyebrow.</p><p>"You're being awfully kind to us. I want to know why."</p><p>Talking to Delta is like talking to himself. She doesn't trust outsiders. He knows she's not going to believe him, but it's the truth. "I like it here."</p><p>Dust motes float in slanted sunbeams coming through shuttered windows. Delta's eyes narrow. She stares him down and he fires right back. Her hands keep shelling beans. He folds his arms. Clampers flicks a curious gaze back and forth between the two adults. A storm is brewing in the room.</p><p>"Are you aware your queen sent a glittery card askin Clampers to attend a student exchange program?"</p><p>Poppy! Branch slams his hands to his face and groans. By the time his fingers slide down and he's able to look up again, Delta's smug grin reaches her ears. She thinks this is <em>funny</em>.</p><p>"Well you can give her my response. Queen to queen, she should keep her man appraised of any other big plans."</p><p>He chokes. "I'm not—"</p><p>"Clampers wants to attend, but I can't take time off to go with her. So my answer's no."</p><p>Clampers' little ears droop and she halfheartedly goes back to nibbling hardened bean shells.</p><p>"I put it in writing. Letter's on the desk. Take it with you cause I don't want you leavin out that first bit."</p><p>Great. He gets to live with whatever reaction Poppy is going to have. He pictures a snort, biting her bottom lip, and a saucy, "Branch, Delta thinks you're <em>my man.</em>"</p><p><em>I am. </em>That's what he should say.</p><p>When he delivers the plain envelope and its no-nonsense black ink contents Poppy does exactly what he expected. But he – well – he "chickens out," as Cinnamon would say, and fails to deliver his witty retort. Instead his gaze slides to the side and he grumbles because this is embarrassing. Poppy revels in it. Ugh.</p><p>She scans the rest of the letter and her amusement turns to confusion. The exchange program invite was meant for Clampers' parents. Delta is Clampers' aunt. Poppy frowns. "I guess if her parents are busy and Delta is busy, maybe someone else can chaperone her?"</p><p>Branch doesn't think Delta will entrust her niece to anyone. He's right.</p><p>"Still no, Rainbow," Delta says over a cactus juice a week later. "I can't risk puttin any of our young'uns in others' hands."</p><p>Finally he has the guts to ask. "Why do you keep calling me that?"</p><p>"You busted into town wearing a literal rainbow on your ear."</p><p>"Heh. I guess so." Branch fiddles with his glass on the bartop. "Still think that nickname fits pretty much anyone else in Pop Village better than it does me."</p><p>"Maybe. Thing is," Delta says before she drains her glass and turns to leave, "rainbow's got blues in it too."</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The country trolls have a wild side that Branch suspects they're only just beginning to let him see. When Cinnamon drags him to the community center he makes his best effort to stay away from the game involving sharp pointy things launched full force at targets on the wall.</p><p>Pool suits him just fine. Technically it should be simple math, but the creaky floorboards and beat up tables defy expectations. He huffs as the cue ball hits that cursed ding by the back pocket and fumbles his shot.</p><p>Cinnamon slaps his back hard enough to draw out a cough. "C'mon Rainbow, imperfection's half the fun."</p><p>There's no hope of ever being called Branch out here. He doesn't mind. He actually likes it.</p><p>Branch applies another round of blue chalk to the tip of his cue stick. "I've wanted to ask for a while, but, Delta, did something happen to her?"</p><p>Cinnamon thwacks her stick on the table, making him jump. Her singing voice is loud and full.</p><p>
  <em>Deltaaaa Dawn! What's that flower you have on!</em>
</p><p>On the other side of the room a troll slides to the jukebox, a music machine that fascinates Branch with all its buttons for selecting specific songs. The troll keys in a code, records inside the machine spin, and one loads onto the turntable.</p><p>Cinnamon is tapping her stick, her dark hooves sidestepping in time. All of the trolls are doing it now. The stamp cracks over the floorboards.</p><p><em>All the folks around the Flats say she's crazy<br/></em> <em>'Cause she walks downtown with a banjo in her hand</em></p><p>Country trolls line the community center's walls and clap the beat. In pairs they're dancing, arms hooked together, turning in circles. Branch has never seen them this worked up. When they hit the chorus again they're belting it out.</p><p><em>Delta Dawn, what's that flower you have on?<br/></em> <em>Could it be a faded rose from days gone by?<br/></em> <em>And did I hear you say<br/></em> <em>He was meeting you here today<br/></em> <em>To take you to his mansion in the sky</em></p><p>Cinnamon rams the cue stick into the floor and props herself with swagger. She shouts to the gang over the ongoing song, drawing whoops and hollers. "Y'all shoulda seen the rock queen's face when she smashed Delta's banjo and got nothin but an old orange yarn! Madder'n a jackrabbit in heat. Thought her head'd explode. Her hair sure did when Delta spit on her. Haha!"</p><p>In one fell swoop Cinnamon slides the stick through her fingers and stabs the cue without a care about where it goes. Billiard balls clack into words full of pride. "They tore the whole town apart looking for that orange rose."</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>At home, the dry season gives way to the rainy one. Plants truly come to life this time of year. Young saplings unfurl new leaves over beds of vibrant moss. Critters emerge to taste fresh dewdrop nectar and flowers start to bloom. When the first red rose spreads its petals, that's when he knows. Not every year is the same. Many go by with hardly a thought. Others, not so much.</p><p>Gray he may have been, but a part of him always hoped the troll tree still lived. He hoped the bright homes, though empty, flourished, and the memories of the departed couldn't be so easily erased. So to stand on it that day and see the bark twisted and barren…</p><p>The tree is green now. Time couldn't put back what was taken, though.</p><p>Some part of him went adrift on the old dead tree. It wanders, looking for itself. The home it's trying to go back to doesn't exist. He could float forever in endless blue and never find the missing piece.</p><p>Sky stretches into eternity from the edge of the balloon basket. Below, a lonesome town resides at the end of a long road. Something on the outskirts draws Delta there every day and Branch needs to know what it is. Maybe he'll find some kind of peace there, too. He doesn't know. He's been afraid to find out. A troll can only handle so much tragedy.</p><p>From memory he retraces Delta's steps. Hot pavement gives way to a board path sinking into the dirt. Its wide spaced planks are starting to disappear under ochre soil. Spiny cacti and floppy desert succulents rise against the sky, stretching shade across the end of the trail and what resides there.</p><p>Many rows of purposefully placed stones sit within a yard encircled by an orange cactuswood fence. Each stone bears a troll's name, two years, and a bit of art. Occasionally there are multiple trolls sharing a monument. Some of the slabs are old and weathered smooth by sandstorms. The newer ones have tokens placed before them: flowers, game pieces, a tankard of cactus juice. Branch lifts up a rock pinning down a paper. It's a child's drawing of a two-person family, one small troll and one big one. He is suddenly, painfully reminded of the picture grandma kept framed on the wall, the one he'd scribbled of him and mom picking flowers. That drawing was gone when he moved in.</p><p>Branch sits on the bench inside the space. He reads the monuments across the way. They're newer, like the others, and they all share the same second number. That was three years ago.</p><p>There are more stones than there are people in Lonesome Flats. He does not know what this place is, but he can guess.</p><p>It's a reminder.</p><p>A troll taken by a bergen never got a proper funeral. There was no body, and therefore no sparkle dust to set free. The day grandma died he scooped up the fallen rose petals and used those instead. Tiny gray Branch, standing in the same spot she'd last been, petal by petal to the wind. What grandma had done for mom.</p><p>Then he'd left his childhood home behind forever, and all that had made him who he was. There was no cure for a troll who lost his music.</p><p>So many stones.</p><p>His adoptive father, at least, went naturally.</p><p>Today was a bad day to come here. He props his elbows on his knees and buries his face in his hands. The number of trolls allowed to see him like this fits on one hand. Soon Delta will arrive, and he'll have to put the mask back on. But for now it's him and the solemn reminders.</p><p>His heart is heavy, his soul hurts, and the pain spirals until he's empty and tired. It'll be back.</p><p><em>I'm already there<br/></em> <em>Take a look around<br/></em> <em>I'm the sunshine in your hair<br/></em> <em>I'm the shadow on the ground<br/></em> <em>I'm the whisper in the wind<br/></em> <em>And I'll be there until the end<br/></em> <em>Oh, I'm already there</em></p><p>Delta's final verses drift over the badlands. She arrives empty handed and goes to a spot toward the front of the yard, standing in silence before a monument there. White flecks glimmer off her sparkled coat. A wisp of a breeze stirs loose mane and tail curls.</p><p>After a time she sighs and places a hand on the stone's rounded crest. She looks his way and her palm slides over the curve as she walks over. He remains on the bench. Delta stands next to him, side by side, facing the same horizon. They're both looking into the past.</p><p>"Honey, you've got a lot of sadness in your heart. You don't have to lose your colors for us to see it."</p><p>"I lost a lot of people I loved."</p><p>"We all have. You don't get through life without losing folks. That's just how it is."</p><p>Delta looks off to where sky meets faded mesas in the far distance. She reaches into her mane and withdraws a flower needlepointed banjo. Silver etching outlines the wood. A heart curls at the tip of the headstock.</p><p>Slow hoofsteps bring the mayor around to face him. "Think you need this more than I do right now."</p><p>The wood is smooth in his hands. It's not as worn as the original would have been, but it's seen plenty of use. Glittery gray strings brush his fingertips. He touches the needlepoint art, feeling the rugged soul of this very personal instrument. "I don't even know where to start," he says.</p><p>"Something tells me you do. Sing what's inside."</p><p>Her seafoam colored tail trails in the dust as she departs. Delta leaves him alone in the cemetery, under the cloudless sky. It's pure. There are no bars in the way now. There's nothing to hold him. He can go wherever he wants.</p><p>He wishes he could see it again, the troll tree where he grew up. When he was still innocent and didn't know. His hands move on the strings. The sound comes out of that feeling. Branch closes his eyes and does something he's never done before.</p><p>He goes back.</p><p>He plays in the tall grasses with the others. He bounds through the brightly colored market, fascinated by the glittery shine of gemstones and rainbow whirl of pinwheels. Tangled roots of the ancient tree house the library. Its stained candyglass windows stretch patterns of light on the floors. His favorite scrapbooks are the textured ones with rough bark and soft fur and bumpy peanut brittle, the ones that let him feel and touch. They make him want to sing.</p><p>From the depths of his childhood the words come rolling up.</p><p><em>I know they say you can't go home again<br/></em> <em>I just had to come back one last time</em></p><p>He can still picture the sheaves of paper with mom's poetry, pens and inks scattered over her desk. His favorite set of blocks and rods that snap together sit in a bin off to the side. Dreams of the outside world decorate the pod: leaves, seeds, fuzzy bits blown in from the land beyond the cage. She'd run away with him now, but it's not safe, she says. It's not safe.</p><p>"Mom, how come I don't have a dad?"</p><p>"Some trolls are happy on their own and want kids. That's me."</p><p>"So not every scrapbook has a prince charming?"</p><p>"Well, I wouldn't say that. I have you." She kisses his cheek.</p><p>Branch smears at the wet mark. "Ugh, mom! Gross."</p><p>She chuckles and rolls her eyes. "Try to be a little more poetic. Someday you might meet a charming troll and then what are you going to do?"</p><p>"Ew, I never want a charming troll. I'm gonna be like you. I'll build a fort in the woods and live there all by myself forever!"</p><p>She's grinning. "We'll see."</p><p>Could she see him now?</p><p><em>I thought if I could touch this place or feel it<br/></em> <em>This brokenness inside me might start healing<br/></em> <em>Out here it's like I'm someone else<br/></em> <em>I thought that maybe I could find myself</em></p><p>"Grandma, you're not going to disappear like mom did, are you?"</p><p>Her face is so, so sad. He doesn't understand why.</p><p>Until the day she pushes him to safety and leaves him forever.</p><p><em>You leave home, you move on, and you do the best you can<br/></em> <em>I got lost in this old world and forgot who I am</em></p><p>In the end, when they run, it doesn't matter what is in the pod. He can't take any of it with him. The only thing he has are the clothes he made himself, learning to be independent so he can survive in the wild. So he can be free.</p><p>That's the last time he ever sees home.</p><p><em>If I could just come in I swear I'll leave<br/></em> <em>Won't take nothing but a memory<br/></em> <em>From the house that built me</em></p><p>Tears roll down Branch's cheeks. He's the same age his mom was when she died. From here on, he goes ahead without her.</p><p>He built a house under a boulder deep in the woods. But, as the missing piece of himself clicks into place, he thinks maybe it's time to build a home.</p><p>Final notes escape into the afternoon. When the strings no longer resonate Branch stores Delta's instrument in his hair. It belongs on the pegs in town hall, and that's where he'll return it. He goes to the headstone Delta stood by and reads the inscription.</p><p>
  <em>Stormy Dawn</em>
</p><p>A rose is engraved beneath the name. The stones on either side are Delta's brother and sister.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"Mining accident," Cinnamon says. "Nearly half the town worked there."</p><p>She looks toward her adopted son's closed bedroom door.</p><p>"There weren't any survivors."</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Landslide – Dixie Chicks<br/>Over You – Miranda Lambert<br/><a href="https://youtu.be/h9k2qlkWzfc">Delta Dawn – Tanya Tucker</a><br/>I’m Already There – Lonestar<br/>The House That Built Me – Miranda Lambert</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Sugar Kissed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Biggie witnesses something unusual the day after the World Tour.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Exactly 600 words! There was supposed to be a whole set of skits from Biggie's perspective, interacting with the rock trolls, etc, but at this point I'm just publishing things I have finished, and I wanted this bit sequentially before the next chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The day after they get back to their ruined village Biggie hears a beat he's never heard before. When he finds the source he hurries away.</p><p>"Um, Legsly," Biggie says. "I think I need you to come take a look at this."</p><p>A few minutes later the pair stare at the scene unfolding en route to the queen's pod. They're not the only ones watching. Colorful plumes of hair ring the sprawling tree boughs. Friends peep down in curiosity, everyone gradually coming together. Flowers start to bob and the whole village is being drawn in, which is a tad unusual because Queen Poppy is nowhere to be seen.</p><p>Legsly rises to match his vantage point. "No Biggie, I don't think you need your eyes checked. This is really happening."</p><p>Branch struts with total confidence on his way up the tree. Footsteps match the tempo. He's the only one singing. Bright, lively, and upbeat.</p><p><em>I need your loving, loving, I need it now<br/></em> <em>You got me begging<br/></em> <em>Begging, I'm on my knees</em></p><p>For no one Branch slides onto his knees, palms out. From there he flows back up to jump on a bouncy mushroom, flipping neatly onto a higher tree path. Groove walking continues as if he never stopped. Trash from the rock invasion gets swept into tidy piles while he dances onward. The smile bursts off the edges of his face.</p><p><em>When I'm without ya<br/></em> <em>I'm so insecure<br/></em> <em>You are the one thing<br/></em> <em>The one thing, I'm living for</em></p><p>Branch's hands brush over the place his heart would be. He does a little spin and shimmies up a set of stairs. What is this song? Why is it so catchy? Biggie's foot taps. Some of the others are already flocking behind Branch, following his routine on the fly. Clean, vibrant tree paths emerge with their passing. Colors pop. Legsly tugs at Biggie's vest. "Biggie, Biggie, c'mon, we gotta dance. It's so good!"</p><p>Biggie's still puzzled. "Do you think they finally got some alone time together?"</p><p>"Doubt it! Things've been crazy since we got back."</p><p>That must not be it then. Best not lose a good dance over it. Biggie joins the others.</p><p>Branch leaps onto the mushroom below Poppy's stairs and throws his hands and voice to the sky.</p><p><em>YOUR SUGAR!<br/></em> <em>Yes Please~<br/></em> <em>Won't you come and put it down on me?</em></p><p>"Oh I get it!" Legsly laughs. "It's because she kissed him. She kissed him on stage!"</p><p>"<em>That's</em> what he's all worked up about?" Biggie says. "But it was so short!"</p><p>"Doesn't matter!" Legsly shouts through a twirl.</p><p>Branch beams. Something inside Biggie melts seeing the once-loner the happiest he's ever, ever been.</p><p><em>Yeah you show me good loving<br/></em> <em>Make it alright<br/></em> <em>Need a little sweetness in my life</em></p><p>In an instant Branch goes silent and stiff, though his tune continues to hum through the harmonizing trolls. He whirls to put his back to the path. Turquoise fingers run over the circlet in his hair to be sure it's in place. Satisfied, he clears his throat and pretends to survey the forest.</p><p>"Queen Poppy," he formally addresses her, without looking, as she walks by.</p><p>She peers at him. "Um, hi, Branch? I, uh." Poppy's head turns while she observes all the trolls hanging out for no apparent reason near her house. A blush lights her sparkled cheeks. "N–nevermind. Maybe later?" she squeaks, and hurries up the stairs.</p><p>As soon as she's out of earshot Branch is back at it.</p><p><em>Your sugar<br/></em> <em>Yes, please<br/></em> <em>Won't you come and put it down on me?</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sugar – Maroon 5</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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